


Waiting on the Lord

by farad



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another post-script to "Vendetta".</p><p><i>Edited on 7-17-2011 to clarify Chris' comments about Hank. Thanks to Van and Huntersglenn for insightful comments!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting on the Lord

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: for the Mag 7 Bingo Prompt "Feathers"; this is (yet another) post-script to "Vendetta", an episode that I apparently cannot stop reconstructing.

_"But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint."_ – Isaiah 40: 31

Lord, he hated funerals. He'd performed more than his fair share these past few days – funerals and notifications. Mrs. Barnsteader had been so upset at her husband's death that she'd hardly heard anything at all about how it had happened, how Hank Connelly had shot him 'by accident'. It had been a relief when she'd refused his services and sent a neighbor for the preacher from the little town closer to where they lived.

Josiah sighed, standing by the grave as Vin and Nathan shoveled dirt over it. Chris had tried, picking up one of the shovels and getting several really good shovel-fulls in before Buck had wrested the tool away from him. It had been a close thing – Chris was wild-eyed and sharp, the lines of his face stark in the noon-day sun.

"We got it, Chris," Vin had said, his voice soft but decisive. He had taken the shovel from Buck and tilted his head toward the horses.

Buck had understood, as had Ezra. Between them, they maneuvered Chris away, leading him along the wooden fence toward the other wooden crosses planted in the dirt.

Such a waste. Josiah sighed again, shifting his weight of his wounded leg as he looked down at the open pages of his Bible. "For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

He wanted to believe it, wanted to believe everything that once he had taken for granted, the comfort and love of the Lord, the redemption of Christ. But somewhere along the way, he'd started to doubt, first his father, then his religion. Neither had offered Hannah what she needed and both had, to his mind, hurt her worse.

God, though, God he had held onto. Different from man, not subject to the definitions and constraints man wanted to place on him.

But these last few days had challenged even that. He had understood, too well and too intimately, the need for for revenge – for Chris, for Hank, for the woman who had asked him for redemption. The woman whose grief had put them in this place – a place that Chris Larabee could just as easily have created.

A woman who had, in her fury and pain, lost not just her first born son, but two others. Men who had been killed by the men protecting Hank Connelly -

"Josiah?"

It was partly his name, partly the voice that he knew so well. He blinked, drawing his eyes up from the words that meant so very little now, to meet dark, worried eyes. "He'll be all right."

For an instant, Josiah agreed – Hank Connelly was past the place where anyone on this plane could do anything for him. In truth, he might well have been there months before, when he had shot David Nichols, blaming him unjustifiably for the deaths of Sarah and Adam Larabee.

But as he held Nathan's gaze, he knew that it wasn't about the man in the ground, the man sharing the earth with his daughter and grandson. It was about the man who had lost all of them.

He looked around, getting a grasp on what he had missed; Chris, Buck, and Ezra were with JD, standing near the horses and the wagon. He was pretty sure he saw a flask flashing in the daylight as they passed it around – silver and bright, had to be Ezra's. But that was all right. Josiah had one of his own, one that he could feel right now in the deep all pocket of his pants.

"Been a rough week," Nathan said, shaking his head. "I need to get back." To check on his one patient, now that the Nichols boys who had lived were on their way back to Kansas City, carrying back their dead.

Part of Josiah, the part that reached down now, grasping his flask through the thick fabric of his pants, hated the effort Nathan had put into saving the three men who had tried to kill them – the ones who had probably killed Hank and wounded JD and Josiah himself.

But it wasn't Nathan's fault. It was the way things should be - the way they would be in a world where revenge and anger and injustice were not the standard for determining guilt. And one of those boys, probably one of the ones still alive, had been the one to save Buck's life. That was no small debt.

Josiah nodded, closing his Bible. But as he turned, following Nathan towards the gate of the small cemetery, he noticed Vin kneeling beside the covered grave. His head was bowed and the shadow cast by his hat brim hid his face, but Josiah watched as he reached forward, planting something long and grey in the soft ground at the end of the fresh dirt. A shadow passed over the grave, the wide wingspan of a bird in flight.

They rode back from Eagle Bend at a fast trot, Nathan and Josiah taking point with the others falling behind as the wagon slowed the speed. He didn't mind – in truth, he needed distance and something else to think about. It was a distraction when they arrived in town and Nathan asked for his help.

It was a relief to be tending to the living, the few that remained in the wake of Mrs. Nichols leading a procession out of town. In Nathan's clinic was Olaf Adamare, the man who the Nichols boys had tied up to his own windmill, torturing him in order to find out where Chris lived. At least the time Josiah spent with his wife weren't filled with a grief he couldn't help. A grief he felt responsible for.

Hours later, as the sun was setting and Josiah made his way across to the saloon for dinner, he stopped beside Vin who was sitting on the boardwalk outside. The younger man was staring into the coming night, his features sharp and impassive.

"J'siah," he nodded when he eventually looked up. "Hard day."

Josiah nodded, wondering when they'd all started sharing the same words; maybe it was sign that they were becoming close, picking up each other's habits. Nathan's words in Vin's mouth. After a second of indecision, he dropped into a chair beside Vin, stretching out his legs. "How's Chris?"

Vin's lips twitched and he turned back to pondering the darkness. "Inside getting drunk," he said. "Buck's with him for now, until Chris pisses him off or he finds a woman."

Josiah smiled, understanding. Vin was sitting here, waiting for Chris to start a fight, preferably with Buck but if that failed – as it might – Chris would end up angry and brawling with someone else. And Vin would step in and sooth the ruffled feathers and get Chris back to his room and into bed.

"I saw you kneeling at the grave," Josiah said. "I didn't think you were the praying kind." He didn't intend it to be an insult and he knew Vin wouldn't take it as one.

Vin glanced at him, his lips curling up a little. "I pray," he said with a shrug, "just not in the way you do."

Josiah waited, knowing better than to push. After a time, Vin shifted in his chair, pushing it back so that he was resting on the back legs, his shoulders against the wall. "Lot of the tribes believe the eagle is a messenger from the Great Spirit – their version of God, I guess. I found a couple of feathers the other morning, before the fight with the Nichols boys." He shrugged, not looking at Josiah. "Figured Hank could use some help now, after all this," he lifted one hand, his fingers brushing the air slowly. "Figured if the Great Spirit had a chance to hear the real story, it might go easier on Hank."

Josiah let the words settle into his mind. He'd studied the beliefs of some of the tribes he'd encountered and even though they had as many ideas about God and creation as the religions he'd grown up with, he knew that there were some ideas that ran through them all, like thin, golden threads. The idea of a messenger to the chief god or spirit was common, as was the belief that it was a bird. Eagles, majestic and fierce, were easy choices for many of the tribes.

As they were for the God he had chosen, for the God to whom Mrs. Nichols had prayed.

"Nice of you," Josiah said after a time. "I spent some time with Hank. He . . . he didn't seem mean." As the words left his mouth, he knew he believed them.

"No, don't reckon he was," Vin said softly. He turned and looked at Josiah, his words still quiet. "You think she was?"

He could have pretended that he didn't understand, but he did. Because it was a question he'd been grappling with himself. "I don't know," he said finally, when the silence had dragged on long enough and the weight of Vin's gaze had become too heavy. "I think she was angry and unable to see what she was doing."

Vin looked away, and Josiah felt a palpable relief. Until Vin went on. "I don't know 'bout you," he said carefully, "but if someone I cared about died for something I don't believe he did, I'd be a might blind myself."

He didn't have time to catch the thought that flashed through his mind, the face that sprang before his eyes. It was getting close to time to visit her again, time to confront his own failure to someone he loved. Someone he couldn't – hadn't protected.

"Ain't saying she was right," Vin went on. "Well, she might have been right 'bout her boy being innocent. But she wasn't right to forget the others. To choose a dead boy over the live ones."

"No," he agreed, "she wasn't. What kind of mother - " He stopped himself, hearing the question he'd asked her, a question for which there was no answer.

But as the anger flared in him again, the fury at a woman who had refused to understand her own responsibility, Vin said softly, "What kind of man don't help his family?"

For a second, Josiah thought Vin was asking him about Hannah, about the things that Josiah hadn't done, hadn't considered in the years when he could have. The things that would have saved her.

But even as the heat of the anger froze into a panicked fear, he know better; Vin didn't know about Hannah – no one, not even Nathan, knew about Hannah. Vin was talking about Chris.

And like Josiah, he was searching for answers to things that seemed unanswerable. Fumbling, Josiah said, "He came back for Hank. And he did protect him – I got the scar to prove it." He meant it as a joke, but as he said it, his leg started to ache, reminding him that it had been a while since he'd had any of Nathan's willow bark tea.

Vin made a noise and Josiah saw he was shaking his head but he'd finally made it to a grin. "Yeah, he did. Just took a while."

Josiah grinned, too, amused. "You expect something different from Chris?"

As if on cue, the batwing doors were pushed open with such force that they slammed back against the outer walls, letting loose a burst of noise – the loud music of the bad piano, a swarm of voices, and the loud cursing of one Chris Larabee. His words were slurred, his tone so sharp that it could have cut the air. "God damn you!" he yelled, his eyes wide. "She was my wife – he didn't deserve to be buried anywhere near her or Adam! I should never have let you talk me into that!"

From inside the saloon, Josiah heard Buck's voice yelling back, but it was muted by the general loudness of the place. No one had yet felt threatened by Chris' temper – or they'd all become so accustomed to it that they ignored it, at least at the first.

"Yep," Vin said, "can always count on Chris to change his mind once he gets good and drunk." As if any of them, even Buck, would have made a decision about Sarah and Adam – or their graves. Buck had taken it as a good sign that Chris had wanted Hank buried with them. But he'd also warned them that Chris had a strong hold on the past, and on his ghosts.

As if they needed that reminder.

Josiah barely heard the sigh as Vin rose, walking past to get to Chris. "You all right?" he asked, stepping up near Chris.

"Why wouldn't I be? How the hell did I let him talk me into putting Hank in the ground there?" Chris shot back, his voice as hard as Josiah had ever heard. Chris glared at Vin, as if daring him to argue, daring him to make a challenge, but Vin nodded once.

"You have dinner?" Vin asked, changing the conversation. "I was thinking about heading over to the hotel."

It was lie, Josiah suspected – Vin rarely ate there. Josiah hadn't really thought about the reasons for it, he just knew that he rarely saw Vin coming, going, or sitting. He'd thought it was cost – the hotel was one of the nicer, more expensive places in town. He didn't eat there often himself, mostly on Sunday.

But Chris did eat there, because it was nice – nice and 'civilized', maybe. Somewhere Chris was used to. Something that might calm him down.

"Dinner," Chris said, but his tone was sharp. "Who needs to eat? People are dead – too many damned people."

"Yep," Vin agreed easily. "They are. Figure they want you to starve?"

Chris jerked, turning again to glare at Vin. But Vin wasn't looking at him; he was staring out across the town, into the twilight that turned the town into shadows.

Chris turned also, as if he were searching out what Vin was looking at – and maybe he was; Josiah found that he, too, was staring into the deep purple gloom, looking for answers he'd never found before.

"Well, fuck," Chris snarled, but the anger wasn't as strong now. He took another step forward, staggering a little but catching himself quick enough.

Vin didn't seem to notice, but Josiah saw him lean a little closer to where Chris was, ready to help if necessary.

He didn't think about what he was doing or why. Instead, he found himself on his feet, walking over to the steps that led down to the road as he said, "Tonight's roast beef, I think. With biscuits."

"Yep," Vin said, his steps sharp on the wooden boardwalk as he followed Josiah. "Could stand a good meal." He didn't say anything else, but Josiah could feel his closeness as they moved down the steps.

Then he heard the rap of Chris' boots on the boardwalk behind them, the familiar jingle of his spurs. His steps were uneven, but he followed them into the street.

"Fuck food," he grumbled, but he came along, staying on his feet even though he did lurch from side to side every so often.

As they neared the restaurant though, he veered away, and Josiah slowed, glancing to Vin in the light of the building's lamps. Chris was staggering off toward the boarding house, still muttering under his breath.

"Reckon he's calling it a night," Vin said, but he eased away, following.

"You want dinner?" Josiah asked. "I can bring it up later."

Vin looked back at him, his lips twitching again in that little almost-smile. "Maybe some biscuits, if there are any left," he said. "I'd be grateful. Hell, he might, too."

Josiah nodded and watched as Vin trotted away, following Chris. 'What kind of man wouldn't help his family?'

"Just in time." Josiah looked around to find Nathan standing in front of him. He looked tired but relaxed. "Thought you were headed over to the saloon for dinner," he said.

Josiah nodded, stepping up beside the other man. "Was. But never quite got there."

Nathan glanced toward the boarding house where Vin was following Chris inside. "Anything I need to worry on?" he asked.

Josiah looked at Nathan then over at the other two men. Chris was leaning on Vin as Vin pulled the door closed behind them.

"After we eat, I think I need some more of your willow bark tea," Josiah said casually, smiling as Nathan started the anticipated series of questions about the level of Josiah's pain and how long he'd been standing on his leg. The questions went on until they were seated at a quiet table near the window where he could look out on the boarding house across the way. The light Chris' room was on and he imagined Vin up there, struggling to get Chris settled for the night.

"Think things will settle down now?" Nathan asked after their dinners were on the table. The biscuits were still hot, and Josiah smiled, recalling Vin's request.

"Do they ever?" he asked, but he realized as he said it that he was still smiling. That he was amused. It seemed like it'd been years since he'd been so.

Nathan looked up at him and then slowly, he, too, smiled. "Nah, but I suspect that's why we stay around." He cut his roast beef and brought a portion to his mouth. But it hovered there, on his fork, while he said, "That, and the idiots we call friends. Sometimes, I think they'd be dead if we weren't around." He shook his head then took the bite of beef, leaving Josiah to finish the thought silently: that they would be dead, too, if it weren't for the other five men. It was, after all, what had brought them all together.

"I saw the strangest thing thing this morning," Nathan said after a time, as the first of the meal was gone and they were slowing down. "While we were loading up to leave Eagle Bend, there was an eagle sitting on the old windmill. He seemed to be watching us." He shook his head and picked up a fork full of green peas. "Thought maybe he was one of your crows at first."

Josiah glanced out the window. Chris' light was turned low, just a faint glow slipping out beneath the curtain. "Crows bring death," he said more to himself than to Nathan.

"Well, too late for that," Nathan said dryly. "Figure we must have had a flock of them flying around lately. It was nice to see an eagle – let's hope it's a good sign."

Josiah nodded, gathering up several biscuits and wrapping them in one of the restaurant's napkins. He knew Vin would bring it back in the morning. "It is, brother," he said, putting the package in his pocket. "It most certainly is."

Looking out the window, he thought he saw the silhouette of a bird perched on the hitching post, its wings stretching outward into the night.


End file.
